


Jones

by Kass



Series: Stargate Atlantis fanworks [39]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Coffee, First Time, M/M, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-26
Updated: 2008-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney hasn't moved from his desk in eleven hours, except to answer inevitable calls of nature and to badger anyone within earshot to bring another sandwich.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jones

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a kissing ficlet meme at sheafrotherdon's lj.

Rodney hasn't moved from his desk in eleven hours, except to answer inevitable calls of nature and to badger anyone within earshot to bring another sandwich. He's _this_ close to figuring out the algorithm; the symbols of the Ancient database have started winking at him merrily, enticing him on.

Either that, or he's so fried he can't focus on the screen and it's just blinking because his eyes aren't working anymore. A tension headache is starting to tap its ball-peen hammer behind his sinuses. Rodney leans back in his chair, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, and sighs. "My kingdom for a cup of coffee," he mumbles, to the empty lab.

A carafe plunks down beside him, and Rodney startles into alertness, almost knocking over the coffee in the process but managing to steady it with a tired hand. Sheppard gives an ironic little bow and leans against the table, arms folded, a kind of at-rest.

"You have no idea —" Rodney says, weariness already wearing off as he pours himself a cup. Even the scent of it revives him. "God, I could kiss you."

There's a silence, which Rodney spends cursing himself in every language he knows. He knows a surprising number of ways to say "you fucking bastard"—side effects of having been a bitchy taskmaster in a lot of international labs—so he can occupy himself like that for a while. Damn it; he didn't mean to let that slip. It was supposed to be a generic expression of gratitude. The kind of thing you blithely toss off but don't mean, everybody knows you don't mean, so --

"You gonna drink that, or just stare at it?" Sheppard sounds amused.

And, actually, not at all angry.

He took it as a joke, then. Which means Rodney should feel relieved. He feels vaguely miserable instead. Apparently some part of him really did want to be "out" about his little crush—like Sheppard was going to respond with "thank God, me too" and plant one on him? What is he, delusional?

Though when he brings his mug to his lips, he almost forgets how wretched he feels; he can't help the little groan of relief. It's not the taste so much as the whole gestalt of it—the aroma, the mouth-feel, the way every addicted cell in his body is jumping for joy. He feels his body relax, settling into the chair, and he drinks the entire mug down without pausing.

Now fortified for whatever unpleasantness his faux pas may have occasioned, he plunks the mug down on the table and meets Sheppard's eyes. What he sees there jolts him with adrenaline just like the coffee did. Surely that isn't—hunger? Is he imagining things, or is Sheppard staring at his mouth?

"I was going to say, let it cool a minute," Sheppard says. Wry as always, though Rodney senses a crack in the veneer. Holy shit.

It's the middle of the night. The place is deserted. And Rodney has spent all damn day on the verge of a breakthrough, chasing that instant when the pieces fall into place and everything is newly, blindingly clear.

It isn't just him. He's not imagining. He's been an idiot, but he gets it now, and he's grinning broadly. The exultation of figuring it out, of being right, washes through him.

Rodney stands up to stretch, and for once he doesn't mind when his shirt rides up a little. "Self-preservation isn't necessarily my best motivator," Rodney points out. "Not when there's something I need right in front of me."

He's willing Sheppard to hear the certainty behind the banter, and he does. From one instant to the next their relationship shifts. The phase change isn't visible, but it's palpable, as though the air around them were newly-charged.

"Something you need," Sheppard repeats, smiling now too, a slow, lazy, with-intent smile. It makes Rodney's toes curl. And then their mutual orbit collapses.

John's arms are amazing, and everywhere their bodies touch Rodney expects sparks. But it's the kiss that really knocks him out—just how fucking good it feels to kiss his way into John's mouth, and John's instantaneous response. Like he's been jonesing for this, too. Like he could stand here in this lab kissing, tender and dirty, all the way through what's left of the night.

"Thanks for the coffee," Rodney murmurs, when they break.

"Anytime," John says. It feels oddly more intimate than the kiss, like a promise, when he leans in to make their foreheads touch.


End file.
